Find Me In the Dark
by LadyFateContemplatingDisaster
Summary: On that fateful night, Harry Potter was kidnapped. Raised by Voldemort, he is now the Order's #2 enemy. The Potters' twin daughters may be the only people who can save him from himself, but even they might be too late to rescue him from the dark. The question that remains is, will Harry recognize what needs to be done for his family...and if he does, which family will he choose?
1. Prologue

Find Me In the Dark

Prologue

_ Lily remembers life only vaguely before her son was taken from her._

_ She remembers vividly green eyes-eyes so much like her own-gazing out at her from a pale face, wide above James' nose and mouth. The shock of black hair on his head made those eyes even more astounding to her, and in memory everything seems more exaggerated...even if it isn't. She isn't sure, though, for it could be-it could have been that way in the past, but she doesn't know anymore, because photographs fade, even magical ones. That's the tragedy involved in memory. Nothing is quite what it was…._

_ She remembers when he would laugh, and gurgle, and giggle...she remembers when he whispered nonsense words to her and listened as she told him stories. She remembers talking to him about his family, remembers even taking him over to play with the Weasleys' newborn son, Ronald, and Alice's child, Neville. She remembers those moments. She remembers finding a bit of hope in her child, in Harry James Potter, in the middle of a dark, dark war, because he was the happiest thing to ever happen to her._

_ She remembers when Albus Dumbledore shattered that illusion, bringing her news of a prophecy that spoke of a child born when the seventh month dies...her child, or Alice's. Her baby, or her best friend's._

_ She remembers the selfish horror and hope of wanting it not to be hers; she remembers exchanging that glance with Alice and clutching her son closer to her chest. Shielding him from everything that could possibly happen to him. She remembers that._

_ And she remembers when Dumbledore tells her that it has been confirmed by a new spy-her old best friend, Severus-that it _is_, in fact, _her_ child, _her_ Harry, _her_ son that is the Chosen One…she remembers collapsing into James' arms, holding back tears, trying to be strong. It's hard to be strong when your child is the only identified target of a mass murderer, however, and she remembers even James crying that night. They moved, only a few months after the birth of her baby boy, to a new home, where a powerful spell was cast, and they stayed._

_ They did not go on the run, like Severus suggested._

_ They did not go hide in the muggle world, like Lily wanted._

_ They stood their ground, and supported the Order of the Phoenix, like Dumbledore asked._

_ She remembers moving. Struggling not to resent the elderly professor for forcing them into this beautiful little cottage in Godric's Hollow, trying not to hate the place simply for what it represented. Knowing that she would be there, hopefully, for a good long while. Hoping that Harry would love it, simply because there was nowhere else he would have to love._

_ The Fidelius Charm was performed, and Dumbledore was their Secret Keeper. James had wanted Sirius, and Lily had wanted Alice, and in the end had decided on Peter Pettigrew...but the entire Order had been against the idea, and even Peter had turned the honor down. She remembers him saying that he was not sure he could handle the stress of the responsibility. She remembers Dumbledore volunteering, a small, almost smug but not quite, smile upon his face. She didn't begrudge him that. He had offered, and it was in their best interest, and she loved the man dearly-she just did not wish to owe him more, and clearly he did not like to lose._

_ She remembers everything from that night more vividly than she remembers the green in her son's eyes._

_ She remembers him fussing, barely eating any dinner._

_ She remembers singing to him in a rocking chair, trying to help him sleep, laughing as her husband and his three best friends began to drift off to the sound of her lullaby even as her baby son did not. She remembers telling the four of them to leave, to perform their duties as members of the Order, that she would be fine on her own._

_ She remembers James kissing her goodbye before the door shuts, and she is alone with her son and their cat._

_ She remembers Harry finally closing his eyes, and placing him in his crib before settling into her chair with a book on potions and poisons._

_ She remembers tiring, eyes drooping, trying to remain awake until James gets home-and then she remembers a small noise, not much, but enough. Enough to wake her. Enough to set her senses blaring. And then she is up, and alert, and-_

_ And she remembers a somewhat distorted voice saying, quite calmly, "Stupefy."_

_ And then she remembers nothing. Nothing._

_ Nothing...until she wakes, with a gentle, "Enervate," and the harsh sobs of her husband as he cries out, "He's gone…" and she remembers immediately knowing._

_ Knowing that the voice, whoever it was, had come for Harry._

_ And her son, her precious, amazing, jade-eyed son, who carried a part of her so important and detrimental to her that she thought she might die without him, was gone._

_ It felt as though part of her soul had been ripped from her body, and she screamed with the agony that only a mother who had lost her child could feel._

_ Lily remembers everything from before her child was taken._

Bellatrix remembers everything from after the Potter child was brought to her.

She remembers waiting at the drop point, where the heavily cloaked thief and kidnapper was waiting, carefully cradling the heavily shrouded bundle of child, and demanding proof of the baby's identity. In response, the kidnapper had revealed the child's face-the Potter hair, the face. It was him. She handed him the bag of gold coins, took the child, and Apparated away.

She remembers arriving. The doors opening at the Dark Lord's new home, deep within the bowels of the earth. The underground tunnel system, open to a select few, of which Bellatrix is one. She remembers striding through the tunnels as other Death Eaters scattered away from her, fearing her wrath.

She was distracted by the weight and warmth in her arms, the smallest breathing noises, the bumping of the child's heart. She was tempted to move the blanket and watch the child's face, but she couldn't-that was almost weakness. She felt something stir within her chest, and she wanted to hold the child close, shield it from the darkness, but refrained. She remembers thinking, reassuring herself, that she was doing this for the Dark Lord and therefore it had to be right.

She remembers thinking, reminding herself, that this was _not_ her baby. Not her child. Not the life stirring in her womb at that very moment.

And yet...she remembers, upon entering the Dark Lord's chambers with the babe, wanting to run with it, hide it, protect it from anything wanting to hurt it. She remembers wanting to defy her master for the first time in her life.

She remembers the small voice in the back of her head whispering that it might not be the last, and she remembers slamming it down with occlumency as she presented the boy. She remembers hissing, "The Potter child, my Lord."

And she remembers cold hands, long and aristocratic, taking the boy from her arms. "He is...fascinating," she remembers him saying. His words were shocking, but they sounded surprised themselves. "Shocking, that this small boy should be said to be my end."

She remembers nodding, but wanting to take the boy back and _run._ Keep him safe. Take him far, far away, where he will never be hurt by this terrifying man who wants him dead.

And now she remembers that man laughing. Laughing, that hard, cold, high laugh that resonated throughout the room in such an odd way that brought chills down her spine and a horrible, twisting dread to her stomach.

"The old man won't know what hit him," the Dark Lord hissed triumphantly, smiling thinly down at the boy. His gaze shifted to hers, red ruby eyes glittering. "The boy won't be my end. He will be _his._ Dumbledore's, and that thrice-cursed Order's. He will bring them down."

She remembers wanting to collapse in relief. He wouldn't kill the boy after all. He would be safe, for a little while, hopefully for years. "What shall we do with him, then, my Lord?" she remembers asking, hoping.

"I shall raise him as my son," Tom Riddle answered, now cradling the boy as if he were something precious. And he was. Now, to both of them. He was their future. "He shall be my son, in every sense of the word, and he shall be loyal to none but me, Bellatrix."

Bella remembers looking at the child, sleeping peacefully in her master's arms, and thinking, _I would do anything for this boy._

Bellatrix remembers everything from that moment on with a clarity that hurts like broken glass.


	2. I Crossing the Line

_Find Me in the Dark_

_~Chapter 1: Crossing the Line~_

* * *

It was with some trepidation that Meredith pulled down the thick, musty book from the shelf within the Restricted Section of the library. She glanced around, wide green eyes alight with a bit of fear and excitement. She wasn't supposed to be here, but she had learned a very powerful Disillusionment charm and wouldn't be able to be seen by Madame Pince or any of the other Hogwarts students.

And she desperately needed this book.

She tiptoed out of the library, managing to make it past the rope without tripping the wards a second time, and reaching her sister before taking off the disillusionment charm. Morgan was waiting for her in the potions section of the library, bouncing up and down impatiently on the balls of her feet.

"Have you got it?" she asked, her voice low, her dark hazel eyes darting around the rooms anxiously. She was on lookout. "Is it the right one?"

Meredith gave her twin a withering look. "Have you ever known me to be wrong, Morgan?" she hissed back, smirking a bit.

The only slightly older girl rolled her eyes before plonking herself down into a seat and pushing her book bag onto the floor. She looked up at her sister with trusting eyes. Morgan had inherited her mother's dark red hair, her father's eyes, and somehow created a face that seemed completely her own. She had a wide mouth that smiled easily and a stubborn chin, coupled with a small nose and freckled skin.

Meredith always felt that her sister was so effortlessly pretty that she should have been rotten on the inside, but of course she wasn't. Morgan was a fourth year Gryffindor, and she was smart and brave and dedicated. She was her parents' perfect daughter, and her only imperfection her friends' eyes was how loyal she was to her very _Slytherin_ sister. Meredith had her father's black hair, as messy and horribly behaved as his, with her mother's eyes and face. Her mother's high cheekbones and oval shaped face, wide almond shaped eyes, and small nose completed her looks, though Meredith felt that she had yet to grow into them.

"Are you ready?" Meredith asked, shaking herself from her thoughts as she sat next to the other girl, carefully placing the book down between them. _Dictum Perierunt Animas_ (_Contacting Lost Souls) _by Cadmus Peverell was considered a very borderline Dark book, but Meredith considered it worth it. She needed this.

Morgan grinned. "I'm always ready, girl, don't you know that by now?"

Her sister shrugged, and opened the book, glancing briefly at the Latin table of contents before deciding on the chapter titled, "_Pro Nomine et Ignotum"_ or "_For Those Named and Unknown_", before flipping quickly and gently through the deteriorating pages to that chapter almost halfway through the book. She skimmed it until she found the exact ritual she was looking for, and as her sister tapped her toes, she read through it, biting her lip and struggling not to flinch.

The spell was almost gruesome.

"The words are fairly simple," she said quietly. "We need to say that every night before we sleep if we want to contact him, and we only need to perform the ritual once for them to work. It will need a small ritual every month to renew it, however, so we really have to be dedicated to this…."

Morgan sighed. "What does the ritual entail?"

Meredith twisted her fingers together in a nervous gesture. "A potion...we'll need to gather some ingredients from Professor Snape's private stores and brew it. That will take about a month, maybe two...I'm not sure. This potion needs to be drunk two days before a new moon. It's...it's not going to be pleasant for the next couple of days. We might suffer hallucinations, headaches, violent spasms, and dizziness. That night we'll need to say the spell, and sacrifice some blood to the elements."

"The elements?"

"Earth, air, fire, and water. It's an elemental spell, and a sacrificial one...are you willing to cross this border? You'll be using a Dark spell, Morgan. Are you willing to do that?" Meredith asked, gripping her sister's small wrist in her long fingers, making her meet her eyes. "Will you forgive yourself for taking this step?"

Morgan's hazel eyes searched her own as though looking for her own answer in her sister's eyes. She was pale, and nervous, but determined. "I have to," she whispered, her voice soft. Meredith closed her eyes and nodded, trying not to sound pained when she spoke.

"Very well. I just want you to know there is no going back, Morgan, not even if you want to. I want you to know that." Meredith looked at her again, releasing her hand, and sighed. She stared at her sister's freckled face for a moment more before continuing. "I could do it by myself...I could share the memories with you, or perhaps even bring you into the dreams?" She shook her head. "Are you willing to be dragged into the Dark?"

She let the words sink in, knowing that her sister would never forgive Meredith or herself should she ever regret this decision. She wanted her to be absolutely sure, as Morgan tended to rush into things. This wasn't deciding what one was having for dinner or what Quidditch team one supported for a season, this was something huge and detrimental. This was something that would affect the rest of their lives.

It took a while before Morgan hung her head in defeat. "No," she whispered. "I want to meet him...so, so much...but I'm not sure I can do it. And I don't think I want you to do it, either, Meredith," she said, snapping her head up, her eyes full of warning. "You'll be crossing the line just as much as I will. I know you like to pretend that you are the perfect little Slytherin girl, but really you're just as good inside as I am. You're just as innocent and Light as me. What about you? Do you want to cross that line?"

A small smile flitted across Meredith's lips, too quickly for her sister to notice. She was the quiet one, the studious one...she was the one who possessed subtlety and cunning, persuasiveness and the capability of keeping a secret. But the truth was, no matter how many Slytherin traits she might have, she had one that was so glaringly Gryffindor that it hurt: she was brave.

"I...I don't know," Meredith lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She kept her mind clear of that bitterness, kept it away from that small little connection that always kept her mind joined to that of her sister's. "I don't know if I can do it, Morgan."

Her sister nodded, as if something was confirmed for her. "Well, we thought about it. We've considered it. But if he was alive, I don't think he'd want us dabbling in the Dark Arts. So just put the book back, Meredith, and we'll go meet Ginny and Hermione in the Room of Requirement."

Meredith nodded and stood before recasting the Disillusionment charm. "Feels almost like a waste," she said, laughing a bit to herself as she picked up her back and dropped it over her shoulder, quickly casting the spell on that too. "All this effort for nothing."

Morgan shrugged, trying to look at her but missing by about a foot, and answered, "Well, when you're back there, grab a book about potions or something. Then it won't be a waste and you can write that essay for Professor Snape for me."

"You mean that essay he assigned you in detention?" Meredith snickered, trotting off and leaving her sister talking to thin air as she headed back to the Restricted Section.

It took her only a moment to pick out a book called _Moste Potente Potions_ and slip two very old books into her satchel. One would be coming home with her for the summer holidays next week, and it was not the one that included steps on making Polyjuice potions.

After all, every Potter was known for taking risks.

.

* * *

.

"Don't ever take a risk like that again," a masculine voice growled, the angry tone threatening. "I cannot believe you just did that."

Two figures stood, facing each other, in the middle of a dark forest. They both wore cloaks and masks, and though they matched in almost every respect, they seemed extremely antagonistic towards each other at the moment.

"It was necessary," the other bit out, his words hissing slightly in fury. "I had no choice. Did you want our mission to fail?"

"It was _not_ necessary, brother," the first one nearly shouted. "You almost got yourself killed! What would I have told your father?" He glared from behind a white mask, gesturing around at the people lying, collapsed, around them. "Even you shouldn't try to take on twelve aurors at once. You should have waited for me to arrive."

The second wore a black mask, made of the an almost light-absorbing material that seemed almost darker than the night that surrounded them at the moment. He shrugged. "But I was fine."

"You might not have been, and that's my point. The next time, I want you to wait for me, understood?"

A flash of irritation shone in the eyes behind the black mask, and the first cloaked figure flinched. "You dare to order me around? We may be partners, but do not forget, we are not equals."

"I am trying to keep you safe, brother." His voice was stiff, and any concern that had been held within it disappeared with the reprimand.

The second inclined his head in acknowledgment of the almost apology. "Your concern is noted. I know my limits, and I knew I could handle it. I did. Everything turned out well," he stated, "So let us forget about it."

"Did you retrieve the item?"

"I did. Let us bring it to my father."

The two turned on the spot, and-with a sharp CRACK-disappeared from the clearing just as a few of the people surrounding them began to stir. None of them had gotten a good look at the young man, cloaked in black and wearing a black mask, before he had knocked them unconscious, and none of them really remembered something missing from any of them either.

With an almost simultaneous CRACK in a place many kilometers away, the two figures reappeared in a mass of black fabric, the noise of their arrival renting the silence of the night sky. They quickly ducked down behind a large boulder, casting various silent spells to look for the presence of others. There was nothing, not even the slightest spell or ward that was out of place, nor animal that they had never sensed around before.

The one in the white mask nodded and stood, whispering a password that opened a hole in the ground. He stood back and waited for the other to enter first; the second did, without sparing more than a slight nod of acknowledgement of the show of submissiveness. With his dark cloak flapping at his heels, he disappeared into the dark hole. The second followed after, making sure to shut it with the same whispered word. Both lit their wands as they walked down the underground tunnels, barely even glancing on either side to look at the intricate carvings that decorated the dark marble walls, nor the creeping vines of gold that threaded their way through the black stone.

It was a while before they encountered another sentient life form, this one in the form of one tall Death Eater, wearing a dark robe not unlike their own, who sneered at them. The one in the white mask ignored him, but took a step forward, making the one in black walk behind for the first time the entire night.

To the Death Eater, this seemed to be a show of superiority between two other Death Eaters who may have been friends but were of different ranks in public. It was common practice for them to assert their authority in the tunnels by walking in front of another down the narrow passages, and in passing another Death Eater, it was just as expected. To the two wearing the black and white masks, however, it was a sign of something else: secrecy and protection.

Death Eaters wore silver masks. The Order of the Phoenix made this mistake whenever they saw the ones in black and white, thinking that they, too, were Death Eaters, and treated them as such. They were not, and took pride in the name that the two of them had fashioned for themselves. They were simply known to anyone other than the Dark Lord and his innermost circle of Death Eaters-Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black, Danielle and Hector Duarte, and, finally, Xavier Nott-as 'the Demonic Guard'. They terrorized the Order and the Ministry, all under the name and banner of the Death Eaters, though the latter feared them just as much as the former two. Other than the six inner circle Death Eaters, no one knew of their loyalty to the Dark Lord, and only three of those Death Eaters even knew of the identity of the two members of the Guard. They only knew them by the names "Angel" and "Demon".

"Angel," said the one in the dark mask quietly, "were we not supposed to meet my father in his private rooms?"

The one in white nodded, dodging around a corner. "Yes, we were. I am simply taking a more circuitous route, because I want to make sure that there are no tracking charms cast on this paper."

"Good work," the other said quietly. His partner took the praise with a nod, though the straightening in his neck and shoulders indicated that it did mean a lot to him. "However, I did think to check the paper already, with a charm that does the same as your detector. I should have informed you of this, Angel. I apologize." The one in white nodded again, and without another word the two adjusted their route.

Within ten minutes, the two reached a heavy oak door, and with a whispered word, it opened of its own accord. The two stepped in.

Inside was a large round table, reminiscent of the legends of King Arthur, and seated at a magnificently carved chair-black oak with snakes winding around the royally crafted back, legs, and arm rests-was a man who looked thoroughly different than the one feared by the majority of the wizarding world. He was pale, with thick black hair that fell shoulder length, and aristocratic features. His tall frame was sitting straight and regally in the throne-like chair, long fingers elegantly stroking the top of the head of his pet snake, Nagini. The only similarity he showed to the terror of England was the pair of shining, blood red eyes that glared out from beneath thick black eyebrows. The glare softened, however, when they rested on the two entering members of the Demonic Guard.

"Well?" he asked, his whispering voice uncoiling in the air like the caress of a python.

"We have the information," the one in the black mask confirmed, gesturing. The slip of parchment flew out of his hand, fluttering toward Voldemort.

The tall man looked over the words written upon it, and a smile that seemed far too much like a smirk for the comfort of anyone who was not completely allied with him spread over his face. "Perfect," her said, his words queuing a relaxation in the posture of the rest of the people in the room. He looked back at the two teenagers and smiled almost genuinely, "Go ahead and sit down." He gestured his hand toward the table, and on his right side appeared a chair almost as ornate as his own, and on the right of that one was another, even less ornate chair. However, that was still more so than the others in the room.

"Thank you, Father." The one in the black mask sat in the first chair, sliding the hood of his cloak back and the black mask off of his face. Black, messy hair tumbled from his head and fell gracefully on his pale forehead. Large green, almond shaped eyes stared out guardedly at the others in the room, and his tall frame sat just as gracefully and royally as did that of his father.

The second, in the white mask, did the same. His hair was perfectly neat, and white blonde, though his skin was just as pale. His silvery eyes were angular in his pointed face, and his actions just as aristocratic as those of the Dark Lord and his son. He and the other boy did not even look at each other after entering the room, but they had known each other so long that they were perfectly in synch-it was as though they were twin brothers.

"As you all may know, I sent the Demonic Guard to bring me some important information on the Ministry's movements. They have returned; their mission, unlike those of the Death Eaters, was successful. My son has succeeded where some of my most faithful Death Eaters have failed...once again." The Dark Lord attributed no credit to the other, who simply accepted this with a flickering of his eyes. Their loyalty was absolute.

The Dark Lord's son nodded. "They were exactly where my informant said that they would be; it was simple, Father." His green eyes flickered to the face of a woman with hair like his, dark and textured like tumbleweed. Her skin was pale, her eyes dark brown, and her face was that of a slightly older beautiful woman. She smiled at him, her eyes glowing with pride and love-he smiled slightly back, noticeable only to those who knew him well. Unfortunately for him, most of the people in the room did know him well enough to see that he was smiling at her, but they indulged him. One could easily see how much the boy loved his parents.

"Harry," the woman said quietly, "were you at all injured in the attack?"

The other boy finally spoke. "He was unharmed, Aunt Bella," he answered for the teenager he considered to be his brother. "He attacked before they even noticed his presence. They didn't even know what happened, probably won't even notice that the paper is missing."

Not many people could get away with answering a question for the son of the Dark Lord, but apparently this boy could. Everyone simply nodded, accepted his word, and the one named Harry nodded at him in thanks. He never liked elaborating on what occurred during his battles, and even Lord Voldemort knew and accepted-if he didn't understand-that.

"Draco did phenomenally as well, of course," Harry said quietly, his voice carrying well despite its volume. Perhaps it was a sign of the respect the others gave him that they all listened to his whispered words as though they were weighted with gold. They all nodded toward the blonde Guard, who accepted the praise-again-with only a flickering of his silver eyes.

"This information now brings us to the next issue," said a voice that sounded quite a bit like that of Draco's. His long hair and grey eyes also matched those of the Guard known as 'Angel', and it was clear to anyone who was an outsider that they were father and son. It was just as clear, however, that the woman sitting at the man's side was Draco's mother, for there was something of her gentle face in his eyes and mouth. Her hair was more golden than pale, and her eyes more blue than grey, but the smile lingering behind her lips spoke of pride in the boy who was her son.

"What we do with it," agreed Harry's mother, Bellatrix, with a nod at her brother-in-law. "I find I must agree, Lucius. This must be decided."

"It is already decided, Bella," Tom Riddle said, his voice firm. He nodded to her, and as Harry watched, he once again saw his parents communicate through their eyes. Voldemort would tell Bellatrix the plan later, when it was just him, his mother, and his father alone. "I am sure that the Guard needs a day of rest before resuming their training. Let us retire, and we can meet again in three days time. Agreed?"

This was no request, it was an order; the majority of the inner circle of Death Eaters stood and walked out of the private room, leaving behind the Malfoys, Bellatrix, Harry, and Voldemort.

As soon as they were gone, Bella stood and wrapped her arms around her son's tall frame. "Thank Salazar, you're home," she said, smiling widely. "I was getting worried, Harry Riddle."

The boy in question smiled back. "I'm fine, Mum," he answered, hugging her tightly. "It was nothing, just a simple reconnaissance mission. No one was killed, barely anyone was hurt, and it was no one from our side. They probably don't even know what happened."

Bella stepped back from her son and toward her nephew, wrapping him in a hug too. Draco returned it, though he returned to his position next to his own mother and father after a second. Harry looked to his father: Tom watched the interactions with a glint in his eye, and Harry smiled slightly at him. The older man smiled back.

Narcissa cleared her throat, curtseying slightly to the Dark Lord, his son, and his wife: the royal family of the Death Eaters. "I am afraid that we must take our leave, if that is amenable to you, my Lord," she said, her gentle voice cool and polite. "My son is tired, and Lucius and I feel that it would be best if we retire."

Lord Voldemort nodded regally. "Of course, Narcissa," he responded. "Draco has done well today; he and Harry will likely train tomorrow as well. He must rest."

"Thank you, my Lord," Narcissa said, curtseying once more before ushering her men out of the room and leaving the other three there.

"You did well today, my son," Voldemort said quietly, turning to the boy who looked quite like him: pale skin, black hair, handsome features, tall frame...but wasn't his son biologically, no matter how the two resembled each other in personality or physical features. "I will find this information very useful…."

"I know what you want it for," Harry said confidently, his tone on the verge of recklessness. He was only like this with his father and mother, because he knew that neither of them would never actually hurt him unless he needed to learn a lesson, and in this case he had learned something very useful. "I even know how you're going to use it."

A single black eyebrow raised on Tom Riddle's face, and a smirk spread across his son's. "Do you, now?" he asked, his cold voice quiet. "_Do tell."_ The last words were in Parseltongue, signaling that he perhaps did not wish Bellatrix to know of a few details in this plan.

_"The information I stole was the list of spells, wards, and curses on the Longbottom, Weasley, and Potter residences, was it not?"_ Harry asked, his hissing voice confident as he watched his impassive father. _"You want to send someone in to plant a tracking charm that will eventually break through the wards on each building. Preferably someone young, that they don't think you will send anyone to rescue, or someone so high up in the Death Eater hierarchy that they will have to keep them high security. While they are there, you are hoping for them to extract information on who is a member of the Order, recording it in the tracking device, and what they might know-we'd be able to guess by the questions they would ask. When the tracking device finishes its work, you would be able to send a raid-rescuing the Death Eater and taking down a residence of the Order of the Phoenix in one blow."_

_ "Very good, Harry,"_ Voldemort hissed approvingly, smiling widely at his son. _"That is exactly my plan…."_

_ "It's very simple,"_ Harry thought aloud, his voice pensive. _"I doubt the Order would ever see it coming, especially if they did not realize that the information was missing the first place. I duplicated it-they still have the original."_

_ "Excellent."_

Harry was silent for a moment. _"You are planning to send Draco, aren't you?"_ he asked, his voice quiet, hesitant.

_"I am."_

_ "That's why you did not want Mum to know what we are talking about,_" Harry said, glancing at his mother quickly. She had busied herself reading various reports, used to these sorts of conversations as she was. _"You do not want her to know that you are sending her nephew into danger."_

_ "No. Not only that, Harry, but another part of the plan is that we are going to reveal the existence of the Demonic Guard to the rest of the Death Eaters…. The Order already suspects Draco's involvement in my armies, but they do not know of your existence. That will remain. You will remain in the background, and we will let them assume that Draco is my heir. It will not be hard, as Dumbledore already suspects that._

_ "I will then send him out on a mission with you; I want none of the Death Eaters to realize that his capture was the goal of the mission, and I want you to be able to report back to me."_

Harry nodded slowly; he didn't like the plan, but he knew that it was a good one. He could even see the distaste for it in his adopted father's eyes. And they would retrieve Draco at the end of it…. _"Only if Draco agrees. _Without_ coercion, Father,"_ he added, for he knew how his father could be; he was under no illusions as to the way the Dark Lord treated his forces.

_"Very well, Harry,_" Voldemort agreed, sighing. Bellatrix, sensing that they had finished their conversation, returned to her husband and son's sides, smiling warmly at both of them.

"Come now," she said quietly, her voice calming to both of them, "Let us spend a night together as a family again before we return to talks of planning and deciding exactly how we are going to take down that disgusting blight on the Wizarding World and the man who runs it."

.

.

.

**Thanks to Magic Kirby for reviewing :D**

**I'll be updating weekly on Mondays, and if I don't you can bet that I'll have a really good reason for why not. I hope that any readers out there can really enjoy this story!**

**I would love it if you dropped me a review, they really do help me know what I'm doing right with the story and what I need to fix, as well as encourage me to keep writing.**

**Thank you! See you next Monday,**

**LadyFate**


	3. II I Can Never Stop Looking Back

Find Me In The Dark

Chapter Two: I Can Never Stop Looking Back

Lily Potter thought that, perhaps, she would one day grow beyond the aching hole in her heart that was the absence of her first child, but she somehow knew that-should that day ever actually come-it was long, long in the future. She put down the picture that she stared at: it was one of her holding Harry in her arms, with James holding her in his lap too. They looked so happy….

But she had to look to the future, too, and they now had their two gorgeous, fifteen year old daughters: Morgan Renee Potter and Meredith Dorea Potter, the twins who were opposites of each other in both looks and personality. This last bit of their lives couldn't have been evidenced more than by the fact that Morgan was in Gryffindor and Meredith was in Slytherin, but it wasn't something that Lily held against them. She knew that both were amazing girls, and that neither of them were evil even if James joked about how the wrong girl was sent to the house of snakes.

Lily decided that their choice in houses reflected who they spent most of their time with: Morgan spent more time with Sirius and Remus, her godfathers (Sirius more honorary than legal), and Meredith was often holed up in the Potions lab with her godfather, Severus Snape. Any enmity between James and Severus was still there, bubbling under the surface, but Lily had the feeling that Severus only kept it there out of habit-she had seen true forgiveness in Sev's eyes the moment he had laid eyes on his new goddaughter, and treated her almost as though she was his own.

Thank God for Severus...sometimes, she thought that if it wasn't for him, Meredith would have turned out to be someone completely different, someone other than who she was deep down. James would have encouraged her to be in Gryffindor, and, failing that, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Not that there was anything wrong with any of those Houses, but Lily knew that Meredith would grow the most in Slytherin, that she would be the most comfortable there. It was just a part of who she was.

She briefly wondered what house Harry would have been in. It lasted a moment, a few seconds before she pushed the thought away.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams," she muttered, repeating something that Dumbledore had once told her. She dwelt on her dreams of what life could have been like far too often, but it was a trap that was far too tempting to pass up. What she would give to have her Harry returned to her...but for now, she had a war to help fight.

She shook her head and looked around her small office; it was papered with light mint green, accented with white wood, and together with some of the less traditional furnishings created an altogether comforting and slightly Muggle look. She knew that some of her coworkers found her office "quaint", but she found the look reminiscent of home. She had a sofa instead of chairs, a table instead of a desk, and the window in the back of the room was charmed to show a picture of an ocean washing against the shore instead of a fireplace. She loved her room-and so did the children and parents who came into the room.

Shortly after leaving Hogwarts, Lily sat down with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, as well as her own parents and explained to them exactly what it was that she wanted to do as a newly full-fledged witch of England. She attended a Muggle university for two years-with an early graduation-to earn a degree in what Muggle's called psychology, studied as many mind-magics as she could legally get her hands on, and obtained Ministry and school-board funding for her new business.

Lily Potter ran an organization dedicated to helping Muggle families integrate into the Wizarding World society, among other things. No longer was a Hogwarts official required to go to a Muggleborn family's home; Evans Inc would send a representative and explain the multiple options, including foreign schooling, as well as some of the things occurring in the world. Namely, the war; she made sure that each student was informed that Hogwarts was safe from Voldemort, however, and often personally went on those visits each year.

Following these visits, she would offer counseling throughout the years. After a while, she had developed such a reputation as a counselor for children that Hogwarts and other magical schools had begun sending her students that required psychological help: many of these were typically things regarded as Muggle mental issues, but Lily began dealing with child abuse cases, suicidal teenagers, and she had even been recommended as an alternative to expulsion more than once.

The best part about her career, in Lily Potter's opinion, was that she felt that she was doing some good in the world. She knew that James felt that his career was perhaps the most important thing in the world-he was an Auror, of course-but Lily knew that he helped the world on a surface level. She, as a psychologist, dug deeper and got at the root of the problem.

A quiet knock sounded on her door, and with a smile she called out, "Come in!" A slightly pudgy boy stuck his face in and grinned.

"Are you busy right now?" he asked, his voice a little hesitant, but his blue eyes sparkling a bit. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"The door's always open, especially for you," Lily said with a laugh. "Take a seat."

The boy who entered was not, in any exact words, large...but neither was he small. He was rather heavy set, but it was clear that a lot of that was from working out and lifting weights, though there was enough of that sort of excess fat that one could also tell that he definitely enjoyed his meals and probably suffered from those sort of unfortunate genetics that are so very hard to defeat.

"So, Dudley, what's up?" Lily asked, smiling at her nephew. Her sister had brought the Muggle boy to her office in Wizarding London shortly after her divorce with her husband Vernon Dursley, deciding that the man's bullying ways would not, by any means, be passed on to her son. Lily had been hard pressed to show Dudley that people should not be treated in such an aggressive fashion, but when she suggested to Petunia to put her son into boxing, the boy had immediately shown an improvement. Now, the sixteen year old loved his aunt and trusted her with things he didn't even share with his mother.

"Can't a guy just stop by to say hello to his favorite aunt?" Dudley asked, grinning widely as he sat down on her couch. He shook his head. "As you know, I've been reading those books you'd given me...and frankly, psychology is fascinating."

Lily covered a smile with her hand. She knew Dudley wasn't an idiot, despite Petunia's multiple complaints that perhaps Vernon's genetics had ruined him, and despite the fact that it did take a while to instill in him the love of learning that most of the Evans family shared. Now he did enjoy reading and the like, however, and she had a feeling about where this was headed.

"Well...Mum's been after me to get a job. I was wondering if, perhaps, I could get one here? With you?" Her nephew looked so hopeful, and Lily smiled gently at him.

"You wouldn't be working with the patients, Dud," Lily said. "It would be more like a lackey job…fetching coffee, making copies, sending messages when I have Muggle patients and can't use a spell. Would you be okay with that?"

He didn't look too happy about it, but Dudley managed a smile. "I think I'll take anything. I do not want to work at a fast food place, and Dad's completely refusing to help pay for any college tuition. Mum's trying to bring it to court again, but I don't want to go through the trials."

"I understand," Lily said sympathetically. "I'll have to start you at minimum wage, but if you show enough hard work, I can definitely give you a raise. Is that alright?"

"Sound great, Aunt," Dudley said with a smile as he stood. "I'd probably better get going too...Mum wanted me to get home in time to meet her new boyfriend. He sounds more promising than the last one, at any rate, so I want to make a favorable impression."

"Good luck, hon," Lily said with a grin as he let himself out. She smiled and began reacquainting herself with the patient due to walk into her office in half an hour. She wondered, slightly, if Harry would have been searching for a job of his own right now….

"Frank, I don't understand where you're going with this," James Potter snapped, hazel eyes flashing behind horn-rimmed glasses. "Whoever attacked those aurors didn't actually do anything-nothing was missing, none of them were hurt, and no one was captured. That cannot be a coincidence. Voldemort is not the kind of person to randomly attack and then do no damage."

Frank, a good looking man with a slightly round face and dark brown eyes, scowled at his longtime friend and partner from the Ministry. "I agree with you James, which is why I don't think this was Voldemort's work. We've received intelligence that there is another group of wizards working against the Ministry, but that might-perhaps-be separate from Voldemort himself."

"Why would they choose now to strike?" Remus Lupin asked, his weary face looking more so because of the recent full moon.

A group of aurors and Order members were sitting cloistered in the overly large dining hall of the Longbottom residence, the current headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. It was a very ornate yet welcoming place, and they were gathered around the grand dining room table as they discussed current intel and plans. As of this meeting, only Auror members and the more active of the Phoenix members were present, because it was a last minute and slightly secret meeting. They did not wish to cause a panic over what might have been nothing, and Dumbledore wanted some of the other members kept unaware of a possible second threat of the Dark Arts.

"What do we know?" Kingsley Shacklebolt, a very experience Auror, asked in his steady voice, bringing the room back to the calm. "Let's go over the information one more time, shall we?"

Frank took a deep breath, calming down. "We know that there are at least three people; one person could not have taken down twelve of the most senior Aurors at one time. We know that they managed to do it without even being seen, which suggests an attack that occurred simultaneously, suggesting at least six, if not more, though three still might have been able to pull it off if they are powerful enough.

"No one was injured, captured, killed, or otherwise harmed in any way identifiable. No one saw anything, nor reported anything out of the ordinary other than the attack itself. There was no Dark Mark, Death Eaters, or other indicative signs of the presence of Lord Voldemort. Each of the Aurors have been investigated thoroughly; none of them have even been implicated in involvement with the Death Eaters, only one has ever tried to dabble in the Dark Arts. And that was our own Nymphadora Tonks." With that, most of the Aurors present trained their eyes on the young Metamorphamagus, who avoided their gaze humorously and grinned.

"It was one time," she muttered. "Once. Chill out, Frankie." Her hair changed to a pouting sort of green. "I don't even think it should really have been considered Dark Magic."

Moody rolled his eyes and clunked the young woman on the shoulder to hush her.

"So what are we going to do?" Remus asked, bringing the attention back to the issue at hand, placing a quieting hand on Tonks' shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled. "Is there even anything we can do? Alastor?"

The most senior Auror at the table sighed. "I'm not sure that there is. I tried everything-I even tried tracing the residual magic, but there was nothing but such an overly potent smell of something distinctly foreign that it was absolutely impossible to track. If I had to hazard a guess, I would almost say that it was not even a British wizard or witch. However, I do not feel comfortable even saying that."

Those present exchanged surprised glances; Moody was typically very opinionated and was normally right on with what he guessed, but this time...he had no ideas. James leaned his head on his hand, closing his eyes in exhaustion. He'd been dealing with the fallout from this particular attack since it had happened-he'd been the Auror on duty, and every one had been so confused that he had volunteered to take control of the case. Well, that, and Dumbledore had asked him to because he wanted all of the information for the Order.

James just wanted to go to the train station that night and pick up his girls, but no...they were stuck here, listening to reports and discussing possible scenarios with other Aurors. He missed his daughters so much, and he knew that Frank was looking forward to picking up his own son from the Hogwarts Express that night. They were having a celebration dinner at the Longbottom house with the Weasleys that night, for the completion of their twin sons' seventh years, their youngest son's fifth year, and their daughter's fourth year as well as Neville Longbotthom's fifth year and the Potter twins' fourth years.

It would have been his son's fifth year too, he thought quietly, and if anyone had been watching him, they would have noticed the sheen of sadness cover his hazel eyes for only a moment. James steepled his fingers, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath...he waited for the pain to subside. Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, but other than that there was no acknowledgement of the sudden change in behavior from James Potter. Over fifteen years, they had grown used to it. Both Potters were subject to sudden attacks of sadness, especially regarding He Who Must Not Be Named.

"I think we will have to consult Dumbledore on this matter," Remus finally said, sighing slightly. "He will have to analyze the information; he knows Voldemort better than the rest of us, and he will be able to tell if the attack did, in fact, originate from him in the first place. If it did, then we can respond accordingly. If it did not...then we are facing something entirely knew and unknown."

James was willing to put his money on something new.

"Then this meeting is adjourned," Frank Longbottom pronounced, vanishing all documents with a wave of his wand and turning his head to speak quietly with his wife about something or another.

James turned to Sirius. "Will you come with me to pick up the girls?" he asked, though it was more like an offer. He knew that Sirius would answer in the affirmative; and sure enough, it was forthcoming.

His best mate grinned. "Of course! I haven't seen them since Easter; we're having the party tonight, too, right?" he asked, just making sure.

"Yup," James answered, standing at the same time as his friend. The two of them strode out of the room together, looking for all of the world as though they hadn't changed since the last time they had left Hogwarts themselves. That they hadn't fought battles with Death Eaters, hadn't stopped trusting people they had once counted among friends, hadn't taken a man they had once bullied and tortured into something they almost considered to be family. They looked as though they hadn't had to look the Dark Lord in the eye and know that he had killed a child that had been loved by them, and they looked as though they were content with their lot in life.

It just goes to show.

Looks can be deceiving.

Meredith leaned her head against the back of her seat as she stared out the window. She was, once again, on the outside of the inside jokes and the constant grins of each of the Gryffindors as they spoke together...as she had told them before, she did not mind sitting with her friends from Slytherin on the ride home, but her sister had insisted.

"It's a time for family," she had said, despite Meredith's protests that they would have the entire summer; this was the last chance she would have with her own friends.

Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, and Morgan Potter all sat on one side of the compartment side by side, talking about the past year and the upcoming summer. Hermione sat next to the sliding door, nose in a book, unperturbed by the toes poking slightly into her thighs because Meredith had placed them upon the seat.

She glanced down at the ream of parchment in front of her; she had charmed it so that she, Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw, and Astoria Greengrass from Slytherin would be able to write back and forth to each other while in separate classes. Neither of them had written, even though they had promised. She figured that it had been stolen from Luna-that happened quite often-and Astoria was probably trapped into sitting with her older sister, Daphne, as well, and Daphne did not approve of Astoria's friendship with the blood traitor, Meredith. Though, technically, as Meredith was a Slytherin, no one was really quite sure that she was a blood traitor...except that she was. She kept this quiet, though, as flaunting said information in her house was quite unheard of and dangerous. She was a Slytherin for a reason-self-preservation was a must.

Neville glanced at her. "What are you planning on doing this summer, Mere?" he asked, his voice kind. He was always trying to be nice to her, and she could never really figure out why. She was always trying to decide. There had to be something in it for him, because no one was ever nice to her from Headquarters, as they were constantly on the look out for the day she would give them all up to save her own skin.

She shrugged. "Probably read a lot. Spend time with Hermione and Luna, maybe. Hopefully Astoria's parents will let her come hang out with me at some point, though they never really do." She doubted they would this year either.

Neville smiled. "Yeah, that could be tough. I think Hermione's coming to stay with us at our manor this summer for a few weeks, though, maybe you guys can too?" he suggest, grinning. Hermione nodded hopefully, barely even looking up from her thick, ancient looking book. Meredith had given it to her for Christmas, and she was rereading it. Again.

"Maybe," Meredith said noncommittally. Morgan jumped in.

"Neville," she said, distracting him, and started going off about something else, grinning at Meredith with a wink that said she knew that her twin did not want to talk to the slightly older boy-and that she did.

A knock sounded on the compartment door before it slid open, and the most gorgeous boy known to Hogwarts stepped in. Morgan immediately turned red, right on cue, followed by Ginny Weasley. Hermione even glanced up from her book, marking her page with a finger when she saw who it was, and smiled at him. The smile was returned, though both were simply friendly and there was no heat.

The boy had dark skin with huge dark eyes emphasized by high, sweeping cheek bones and a wide mouth. His hair was slightly too long and messy, his eye lashes thick and black, his smile dashing and his gaze wicked. He was tall and thin, muscled from playing Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and he was among the top in the Hogwarts classes.

"Hello, Blaise," Meredith said, among the only two girls in the compartment unaffected by his presence. He was her mentor in the Slytherin house; each Slytherin first year was assigned a second year to be their mentor when they were Sorted, and a sibling bond was created. He was literally like her brother.

He grinned wickedly at her and picked her feet off of the compartment bench, lifting them up so that they were in the air, sat down, and then rested them back on his lap. Meredith shifted, curling up under his arm and closing her eyes, as though preparing to take a nap. The Gryffindors in the compartment felt uncomfortable at the display of affection; they did not understand the nature of the Slytherin designation of 'sib' and mentor, and sometimes thought that more than platonic feelings went on between Blaise and Meredith, though there could be nothing further from this case. They also did not understand that, while most Slytherins were reticent in displays of physical closeness outside of their own house, they needed that sort of attachment in their own-they were like the animals they were represented by in that way.

"How are my favorite Gryffindors?" Blaise joked, resting his chin on Meredith's dark hair. She was already asleep, he noticed with a bit of concern. How tired was she?

Neville glared at him. "Fine," he bit out. "What are you doing here, Zabini?"

The Slytherin in question raised on black brow. "What does it look like? I promised my sib I'd sit with her on the ride home; a Slytherin never breaks a promise."

"Leave each other alone," Hermione said, her voice tired and exasperated. "Meredith was up half the night with nightmares. She needs to sleep now, and if she can sleep better with Zabini here, then let her."

"How do you know that she had nightmares?" Blaise asked, surprised. "And why didn't she talk to me?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow herself. "That girl is my best friend, Zabini. I know her well. She may consider you a brother, but she looks up to you more than is probably healthy. She couldn't come talk to you about them without thinking she might look weak."

"How'd she get into the Gryffindor dorms?" Blaise asked, surprised.

"She didn't. She made herself stay awake until breakfast," Morgan said quietly. "And I talked to Hermione about what I should do about it...and what I did was make sure that she sit with us on the train home and hope she would open up. She didn't."

Blaise shook his head. "She's learned that lesson from us snakes far too well, I'm afraid," he said quietly. "If in doubt, play your cards close to your chest...reflections in your eyes give you away more often than you would think."

"I'm going to talk to our mother about giving her dreamless sleep potions," Morgan said, opening up to the idea of talking to this gorgeous boy currently holding her sister like she was the most precious thing on the planet.

"She's exhausted," he whispered. "I hope that helps." He looked up at her. "I'm going to give you a way to contact me. She has it too, but I'm afraid that she won't if she needs to. She tends to ignore emergencies, and I think she got that from the bit of Gryffindor that just won't go away." The others cracked a smile at that. "I understand that you all probably don't like the idea of trusting me, and sometimes even her, but I want you to keep in mind that there are some things about our ways of life that you do not understand. She doesn't even understand them, but she's beginning to."

He looked down at her.

"I don't know what it is," he whispered, "but something tells me that we're in for something that's just starting...and I'm not sure that we'll ever get out of it."

**AN: Thanks to Magic Kirby, anthony37, XZazaX, and Mika for their reviews, and to everyone who either favorited or put this story on alert!**

**I may or may not do a short fic about Blaise and Meredith's friendship, and how Blaise developed a sort of camaraderie between the houses thanks to her. Just fyi :)**

**What do you think about this chapter? I'd love to know! Just drop a word or two, if you could! Thanks!**

**With love and best wishes,**

**LadyFate**


	4. III Silence is Golden, Speech is Gilded

Find Me In The Dark

Chapter Three: Silence Is Golden, Speech is Gilded

"Meredith," a voice whispered, jolting her out of an almost blissful void. "We're pulling into the station. You have to wake up now."

The girl sat up, blearily rubbing at her dark green eyes and staring around at the people in the compartment who were decidedly not looking at her and Blaise. She looked up at her mentor; he was grinning, his bright white teeth flashing behind his dark lips, and she leaned her head against his shoulder in a small, subtle sort of hug. "Thanks, Blaise," she mumbled, sitting up completely. She glanced at her twin, who was now squished in between Ginny and Ron Weasley. "When did the other ginger get here?" she asked, her voice challenging. While she held nothing against Ginny, Ronald was terribly rude to her about being a Slytherin and the two were constantly at each others throats. He had gone to sit with two other Gryffindors by the names of Seamus and Dean, and though Meredith had never really associated with either of them before and did not know if they truly did think of the snake house the way that Ron did, she couldn't help but think the worst of them.

"I can't help but wonder what two snakes are doing in my compartment," the Weasel, as the Slytherin house had so fondly named him, sneered back.

"Funnily enough, I did not see your name on it when I came in," Meredith said thoughtfully, pretending to think. She turned to Hermione. "Did you?" she asked, her tone sarcastically wondering.

The older girl smiled. "You know, I think I might have. It looked like a five year old wrote it though...so I didn't take it seriously. Was that you, Ronald?"

The Weasley boy stuttered, but didn't respond as the conductor's voice echoed over the train and told them to get ready to disembark. Blaise quickly kissed Meredith's forehead. "I'll write this summer, I promise," he said, grinning. "I'll even kidnap you for a shopping spree in Diagon Alley, complete with Astoria and Luna. Granger, do you want to come?"

She pretended to think about it.

"I'll buy you a book," he bribed.

"I suppose," the muggleborn girl agreed, grinning back.

"Then it's a plan," the Slytherin boy said, turning back to his sib with a huge smile. "I've got to go get my trunk, but I'll see you again on the platform. I've got your farewell gift back at my compartment. See you."

"Bye, Blaise," Meredith said, smiling back, hugging him before he left.

"I thought he'd never leave," Ronald complained. Everyone just ignored him, returning to the struggle of removing their things and then trying to find the final card of the deck of Exploding Snap Neville had lost on the train ride while she had been sleeping. When they finally pulled open the outside door of the compartment, Morgan was the first to exit, and the first to spot her father and his companion. "Dad!" she yelled. "Uncle Sirius!" She sprinted over to them, leaving her trunk behind her, grinning so widely that Meredith could almost feel it on her own face. The younger twin waved her wand silently and floated the two large trunks, the owl cage holding her sister's owl, and the basket holding her cat, and followed behind her. Sirius only smiled when he saw her, and it wasn't the huge warm smile he gave her sister, but her father gave an outright grin.

"Mere," he said, kneeling down to match her height and meeting her dark, emerald eyes. "How's my favorite snake?"

Unable to stop herself, she giggled, just like she had when she was eleven and gotten off the train at Christmas, terrified of seeing her parents for the first time after her Sorting. Just like she had every time her father greeted her with the term. "I'm good," she said back, smiling widely at him, a glint in her eyes. "How's my favorite Dad?"

"I'm your only Dad," he answered, trying-failing-to look wounded.

"And I'm your only snake," she answered, grinning.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and just before she turned around to see what it was she saw her father's eyes harden and turn to a hazel colored glare. She sighed. "Hello, Blaise," she greeted, smiling up at her friend when she turned around. He grinned back, unperturbed by the fierce Potter and Black scowls he was on the receiving ends of.

"Hello," he said in answer, reaching into his cloak pocket and pulling out a large green wrapped package. "I was going to save this for your birthday, but I decided to give it to you to say goodbye instead."

Meredith took it, but knew better than to open it on the platform. If it was what she thought it was, it was a book detailing the practices of Occlumency and Legilimency, and she did not want anyone knowing that she could perform those two branches of magic. "Thank you, Blaise," she said, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck in a rare, actual hug. He was very, very tall-he had to catch her to keep her from dragging him to the ground. "I'll miss you." These last words came out in a whisper.

"I'll miss you too, little sister," he murmured, his voice only meant for her. Slytherins only showed their feelings in front of people they trusted-this lesson was pounded into her from the very beginning-which meant very, very few. Meredith pushed that bit back, knowing that she had to show emotion in front of her family, but Blaise normally did not. Here he was anyway, giving her a present, hugging her, even saying he would miss her in front of people. "Stay out of trouble," he ordered as he put her down, one hand on her shoulder and a finger pointed mockingly in her face. She laughed. "No. I mean it," he said, his voice dropping. "I have a bad feeling about this summer. Don't do anything worthy of your sister."

"Hey!"

"I won't," Meredith answered, her voice even quieter. "I promise."

"Good."

And with that final word, Blaise left without looking back, and Meredith clutched the package to her chest, staring after the boy who had come-in her mind-to be the brother she had never gotten the chance to have, because a horrible Dark Lord by the name of Lord Voldemort had taken his life.

And this summer was her chance to rectify that. The choice had been rejected by her sister...so clearly she wasn't breaking her promise to Blaise. She wasn't doing anything worthy of Morgan, she was doing something far worse.

And she was going to begin it tonight, she remembered, looking up at the nearly full moon. There would be two more days until it was completely full. Two more days and the world might be right again. It had to be.

* * *

Sweat dripped from sopping black hair down the pale face of one Harry Riddle. His dark green eyes stared intently at his surroundings: he stood in the middle of a large dark forest, with only the outlines of the trees visible, and the sky covered by the leaves and branches. There was very little light, so the teenager relied on his other senses. He could hear the wind in the air, the light hooting of an owl-another predator of the night-and the smallest of footsteps. His adversary.

He shifted his feet, changed the grip on his sword, and ran up a tree silently before landing gracefully on a thick branch in a watchful crouch. His face was unprotected; no one here would recognize him. He wore only black clothes made of light cotton, and a pair of very soft and supple leather boots. No heavy cloaks, clumsy robes...he styled these clothes after those of the muggle warriors known as samurai. They were known for traits he admired, after all, and even his father approved of this choice of role model.

He waited, listening.

Harry heard a cracking of a twig, a soft curse, and a sudden silence. It was too late, however-he had already pinpointed the location of the intruder, and was already coming up with a plan to disable him. A word flitted through his mind and his sword shrunk into a knife, which he threw almost directly beneath him with a decisive flick of his wrist.

Draco cursed when he saw the blade quivering in the ground between his feet. "You win," he grumbled, putting his own sword down in defeat.

The forest lit up, and suddenly the atmosphere seemed less oppressive. Harry followed the path of his knife, landing in front of his friend and brother with a small smirk. He pulled up his blade, returning it to its original form-an extremely small muggle bobby pin, which he placed in his hair, buried in the messy locks. Draco did the same.

The two of them had been fighting each other and running through the forest for hours on end, starting at six o'clock that morning. It was now two in the afternoon.

"I'm disgusting," Draco groaned, looking down at his own sweat stained black clothing, "And we still have to practice Occlumency after this. With _your_ _father."_

Even Harry showed a bit of dread at that; his father had an unnatural talent at Legilimency that neither of them had really shared, so they spent an inordinate amount of time struggling to improve upon their skills. They were far beyond the caliber of other wizards, of course, because of this extensive training, but never quite up to par with the Dark Lord. And while Voldemort never quite cared as much if Draco did not catch up, he wanted his son to be as good as-if not better than-he was.

"Let's get moving," he said quietly. "The sooner we get this over with, the better. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Draco said enthusiastically, striding quickly out of the forest. As soon as they opened a door in a tree, the room turned back into what it really was: a room filled to the brim with dueling dummies, training equipment, and extensive magical panels with different settings that allowed them to choose different illusions to train in. It was quite an extraordinary work of magic, all designed to Harry's specifications. He just hoped that he father would never figure out that it was modeled after a muggle training room he had once seen, and the panel was something like a muggle panel-he had just applied his own twist.

Just outside of that training room was yet another, though this one was one that Draco and Harry both met with a mix of dread and appreciation. It was currently occupied by three large and very comfortable looking cots. Harry quickly pulled off his boots and sat on the edge of one, waiting patiently for his father walk in. Draco did the same, though he was more hesitant about sitting down on a cot. The two of them nodded, and both carefully laid down on their individual cots, though they tried to remain as alert as possible despite their very tired limbs and bodies.

"Finished your swordplay, Harry, Draco?" Bella's voice asked, which was not what they expected to hear. She stepped into the room. She wore an outfit much like theirs, one that her sister would have deemed extremely inappropriate for a pureblood like herself, but one that she enjoyed nonetheless. She was smiling, and her hair was falling in tumultuous curls around her face. "Marvolo," for Tom Riddle hated his father's name, "had to leave to address something, and left me in charge of your Occlumency lessons. I thought we'd just have a nice little dream battle...shall we?"

They nodded, and closed their eyes-instantly, they were in the middle of a large field of black grass, empty but for the occasional whistle of the wind and strange crunching of the plant life beneath their leather boots.

"Sometimes there will be situations where your mind is all that is left to you, Harry Riddle, Draco Malfoy. I'm here to help you prepare for those situations. Whatever you visualize will become yours to use. Use your thoughts wisely...the two of you will both be fighting me. Begin."

Bellatrix immediately began weaving a shield of threaded black smoke about her body, thick cords stretching to cover her as she simultaneously created silvery lightning to filter in between and feed off of its innermost depths. Harry watched it calmly, his eyes betraying no emotion nor fear, while Draco's were more preoccupied with following his aunt's wand.

Harry knew how to win, of course. He also knew that he wouldn't, because Bellatrix definitely knew approximately five different ways to win-he had only come up with two possible strategies, and the one with the ultimately best strategy would triumph. There was only one thing he was absolutely sure of, of course: Draco would not win, for while he was very good at Occlumency (better than Harry), he was absolute rubbish at the mental battles.

Harry twisted his fingers around and around, imagining a coil of copper wire spilling from them to fall onto the ground in a water fall of loose metal. It was very moldable, very flexible. Neither Bellatrix nor Draco noticed what he was doing save for a cursory glance, as both were far too involved in their now full on lightning battle. Harry's expressionless face broke briefly into a grin, which just as quickly disappeared into his normal impassive state, and he gently guided the copper wire over to where the two were standing.

He knew both Bellatrix Black and Draco Malfoy very, very well. Bella had raised him, and Draco was practically his brother. Couple these facts with his highly impressive mind, amazing memory, and cunning, one could see how he could remember exactly the temperature of each of their individual skins.

Draco was typically a bit colder, and might notice if warm copper was wrapped around his bare ankle. Harry touched his skin mentally to make sure, then gently heated the copper to precisely the right temperature before slowly-ever so slowly-wrapping it gently around his ankle.

Now came the delicate part. If he wasn't careful, his magic and mind could be completely scorched by the silvery lightning being exchanged between the two, and was now dancing along the copper wire.

The other end snaked along the ground toward the ankle of one Bellatrix Black. He mentally touched her skin, but was rebuffed by shields so strong and familiar that they touched a cord in him that should not have been electrified-and the scar on his forehead, the scar that was shielded by magic so powerful that it only hurt when it came into direct contact with the magic that had shielded it in the first place, felt as though it was splitting his forehead down the center.

But Harry retreated, pushed the pain back, and a let a smirk spread softly across his face. He had thought that there was something fishy about his father canceling their lesson, and now he knew; he wanted them to expect the unexpected, to never trust anyone, and had taken Polyjuice potion to look like Bella.

Harry adjusted his wire to match Lord Voldemort, then quickly wrapped it around the Dark Lord's ankle, raised it from the ground, and waited.

He did not have to wait long.

Lightning found the conductor, and the two were both shocked so terribly that the shield woven around the Dark Lord fractured and exploded into the dreamscape, while Draco was pushed backward through the air. Or he would have been, had he not been tied to Tom Riddle by copper wire.

Harry just watched, his dark green eyes impassive.

He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought-possibly-he might have just won his first dream battle with his father.

Voldemort in Bella's body stood, and smirked. "You figured it out, didn't you, my son?" he asked in Bella's voice, the feminine vocals sounding odd with the Dark Lord's inflections. "Very well done. I should not have decided to battle you separately; clearly leaving you to your own devices allows you to figure out how to use opponents distractions to your advantage. Very good."

"Thank you, Father," Harry answered, bowing and smiling.

Realization dawned in Draco's eyes. He bowed, a smile on his face. "I ache in places I was unaware were possible, Harry," he complained, laughing. "But that was good."

"Thanks," Harry said, grinning at his friend as well. The three of them, two of which still aching from electricity, exited the dream world.

* * *

Neville Longbottom had never been one for the holidays. For one, because of the war, he never got the holidays to just himself. His house, manor, or whatever one would call it, was always crawling with people. Lots and lots of people. This was a direct result of his parents rather overzealous involvement in the War, which he understood, he really did, but he truly wished for some time when it was just him and his family. Even some alone time with his tyrant of a grandmother would be nice on occasion, but that never happened. Either he was shunted off to the side with the others from Hogwarts or he was shoved into a room and forced to listen to his parents discuss the happenings around the world; they never had time for him.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy having his friends over all the time. Morgan and Meredith Potter were constants in his life-their mothers being best friends and all-but he wasn't sure if he had a crush on one of them, and if he did, which one it was, and that just made things so horribly awkward for him that he could barely speak to them. Hermione was over at the Potters' house for a month every summer, and she'd spend some time at his house too-she was always fun to talk to, and he was planning on getting her alone to help him sort out his feelings. She was good at that stuff. And then there were the Weasleys...there was always at least one of them, somewhere, if not more than one. Ron was one of his best friends, of course, so he loved having him over, but more and more recently, Ron was hanging out with Dean and Seamus and getting ruder and ruder by the minute.

All of them were going to be there tonight, of course. At his house there was going to be filled to the brim with people.

So many people. And all Neville really wanted was to be alone, or with his family, away from this bloody war. He was tired of death and his father's world weary gaze, his mother's worry, and his own exhausting thoughts and feelings and his way of looking at the world. He was tired of feeling guilty at thinking these thoughts.

So he shook it off, and smiled, thinking of the hug Morgan had given him as she had left the train, the kiss on the cheek. He thought of the fact that he would see the twins tonight-the only positive of the party thrown partially in his honor. He shrugged. He hoped that nothing would go terribly wrong.

* * *

Meredith swallowed, making sure to choke down every last drop of the singularly tasting and smelling potion that looked like someone had taken the bark of a tree and liquified it. It was truly vile.

But necessary.

The plan was that when the initial symptoms of the potion started-the sweating, nausea, and headache-she would plead out of the party and hopefully Uncle Sev would take her back home, or to his house. She would beg off any potions, claiming that she just wanted to sleep; anything else in her system would shut down the potion. When the hallucinations started, they would be merely nightmares, and not nearly so bad. She could claim that they were a part of a fever that might have come in the middle of the night if anyone found her thrashing around in her bed or screaming.

She wiped the last bit of potion off her lips with trembling fingers, the knowledge that there was no going back from this moment weighing heavily on her mind. She was now an initiate to the Dark Arts, and hopefully wouldn't fall prey to the delightful world of temptation that now lay before her in that form.

In two days' time, however, she would see her brother, and that was all that mattered to her in the end.

Harry.

Harry James Potter, the brother she never had, the brother she loved desperately, the brother she hoped would love her back even if he was just a figment of her imagination. She hoped he would love her back at least nearly as much as she loved him in her mind.

Morgan stuck her head through the door, grinning at her sister. "Ready to go?" she asked, looking totally at ease with the fact that she would be in a room full of people in the next half hour. Of course; she was a Gryffindor, and she saw nothing wrong with being with a bunch of people.

"As I'll ever be," Meredith groaned, levering herself off her bed at the same time as pushing the bottle so subtly under the pillow that Morgan did not even notice the motion.

"Aw, it'll be fun…," Morgan said, smiling. She walked in front of her sister, now changed out of her black Hogwarts robes and now wearing jeans and a dark red and white sweater. Meredith had done the same, but in preparation for later had worn a thin black tank top underneath a green hoodie, with thin black cargo pants and grey chucks. Comfortable clothes. Clothes one could get sick in.

Lily and James waited in the living room, standing just outside the fire holding a bottle of wine and the jar of floo powder. Lily smiled at her daughters; she knew which one would be looking forward to this party and which one would be ducking out with an illness later, escorted home by the other loner in attendance. She didn't mind, she was only relieved that James didn't realize that Meredith did not exactly enjoy the friends he wanted her to make.

"Are you ready, girls?" she asked, her voice soft as she wrapped an arm around her dark-haired daughter. Meredith smiled up at her, and Morgan quickly stole the jar of dust from her father before dashing to the fire place.

"Last one there's a Blast Ended Skrewt," Morgan called, yelling, "Longbottom Manor."

**AN:**

**Hello again everyone!**

**So, tell me what you think :) Reviews motivate me to work on later chapters, and I always love hearing from everyone!**

**Thanks for reading, and especially to anthony37!**

**Love and best wishes,**

**LadyFate**


	5. IV Keep Your Dreams In the Shadows

Find Me In The Dark

Chapter Four: Keep Your Dreams in the Shadows

"Meredith's been sick for nearly two days now," Lily said into the phone, her voice full of worry as she carefully poured a mug of herbal tea for her sick daughter. "She won't take any potions whatsoever; I think the fever's giving her hallucinations. She thinks I'm trying to poison her."

"Maybe it will sweat itself out?" James said, his voice sounding slightly tinny over the muggle device. He was standing in a phone booth in Muggle London, taking his lunch break to check on his daughter. "I wonder if she ate something weird at the party."

"And got a fever? No...I think this is something magical," Lily said darkly. "You don't think the twins gave her something that reacted badly, do you?"

"If that's the case, she should be fine in a day or so," James insisted. "Fred and George never mess with anything Dark or too dangerous. She'll be okay, Lils."

"I hope so," Lily said, thinking worriedly that it had better not be contagious, because she hadn't sent Morgan to the Weasleys' until that morning when it had lasted over night.

She walked over to the stairs that led to Meredith's room; shortly after returning from her first year at Hogwarts, Meredith had insisted on moving into the empty cellar and converting it into her own two rooms. The first of which was her very own potions lab, where she would experiment with potions and even charms. Lily allowed it, because she knew how much she wanted to use magic when she was younger, and every other magical child did, and her children were far too brilliant not to practice what they loved the most. The second of her rooms was, of course, her bedroom.

Lily stepped inside the first, becoming immediately surrounded by jars of potions and boxes of ingredients. A large cauldron stood in the corner, dusty from lack of use for an entire year. It saddened Lily that it had yet to be sat up, that this room had yet to be cleaned, that there was no stench of potion boiling from this room through the spells that hadn't been renewed yet. Her daughter was violently ill, and therefore Lily could not see her doing what she enjoyed this summer.

She stepped beyond the counter top Meredith used to prepare ingredients and pushed open the door, stepping through a powerful spell that blocked out any toxins or smells that could come from the potions lab. Unlike Severus, Meredith would not allow her hair to reach a greasy and disastrous state that resembled his oily locks.

The room she stepped into did not look like a cellar dwelling; it's walls were papered with light cream and dark green ivy, lightly accented with light lavender flowers. The dark wood floor had a green and lavender rug to make it more cozy, with matching bedding and furniture. A light bed, desk, dresser, bookshelves, and a lavender easy chair filled up the room, each devoid of the normal chaos compiled of books and parchment that Lily was used to seeing in the summer time. If Meredith didn't get better soon, she would find herself missing the mess.

"Meredith? Sweetie?" she asked, holding the mug and walking closer. Meredith blearily opened her eyes; the redness around the dark green startled Lily. It looked like she had been crying. "Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?"

She slowly shook her head, but her whole body was trembling too. "Why did he have to die, Mummy?" she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming earlier that night.

"Who, love?"

"Harry," she whispered, closing her eyes again. "Why?"

Lily sighed, brushing the hair back from her daughter's forehead. She had had this conversation various times with her child as she was growing up, for the girl had nightmares that Voldemort would come back for her or her sister. "Hushabye, sweetheart," she murmured, kissing her forehead. "Would you like a drink of tea?"

Meredith shook her head, wanting just to roll over again and resume sleeping. Lily sighed, and took her place as sentry in the comfortable chair as she watched her daughter resume her feverish dreams.

Meredith's dreams for the past two days had been tortured and strenuous, filled with monsters and vibrant colors. This dream, this vision, was something else entirely, something that told her that the potion might just have worked and not poisoned her after all, instead leading her on a journey more amazing than she had allowed herself to believe.

She was standing in a room, a dark room. The walls and floor were a dark wood, polished to shine brightly in the sunlight spilling through the window. Surprisingly enough, to her at least, the room was very well furnished. There was a large wardrobe against one wall, bookshelves, a roll top desk with a large, matching chair, and two doors on the walls that were both currently closed. Taking up the majority of the room, however, was a large queen-sized bed, covered with a dark grey blanket and pillows that looked very expensive and comfortable.

On that bed lay a young man with thick, exceedingly messy black hair. His back was to her, and he wore a thin black shirt. She could see him breathing. He moved, pressing his face into the pillow.

Who was he? Was that really Harry? Meredith wondered. She hadn't really thought beyond getting the potion to work; she guessed she hadn't really thought that her brother would have aged with the time, either. But maybe death worked that way with younger children, she supposed.

She tiptoed over to the bed, crossing over to him, wondering briefly why he was sleeping during the daytime. Was death just weird? Or did the potion send him to sleep so that he could meet her in dreamland?

She reached out a hand, touching his shoulder, wanting to wake him, to talk to him.

In an instant, a hand darted out, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed. Angry, glaring emerald eyes stared harshly into her own, glittering furiously. Meredith's own green eyes, the exact same shade, stared widely back, her mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. "Who are you?" the boy growled harshly. "What are you doing here, girl?"

Meredith swallowed. "Harry?" she asked, her voice barely squeaking out. "Harry, you're hurting me!"

"How do you know my name?" he asked, his voice calm but still harsh, still growling. His eyes were cold but curious. He knew that she was no threat to him, she could see it, so why was he treating her like this? "Did my father send you?"

"No one sent me, no one," she whispered, scared. "Harry, please, let me go-" she started, but she cut herself off. She could hear her own voice, begging inside of her mind: _"I promise, I won't do anything, please, just let me go, I won't scream, I won't run, just let me explain, let me, please!"_ No. She refused to be that person. She would be logical about this; he was a ghost. He could not hurt her. "Harry, I know you're probably really confused right now, and I am too, really, but if you just let me explain, I can. I promise."

"I don't think so. I know what this is; this is some test that Bella or my father came up with. Or it's a prank. I am not falling for this, girl, so you might as well not waste your breath."

"I risked my life to come here to see you," she said, frowning at the boy she considered her brother. And really, he looked so much like her father it was uncanny.

He looked like...he looked like her.

It was true, right down to the thick dark hair and the green eyes and the pale skin, they looked like each other. The thin builds, small and slight, though he was tall-much, much taller-and she was not, the narrow fingers, the almond shaped eyes. Otherwise, he looked like James, but she could see that they were related too. Funnily enough, she had never really considered that she looked so much like her father before that moment.

Harry tilted his head to one side, relaxing the grip on her wrist to a light-though still firm-hold.

"You're a dream, aren't you?" he asked, looking around. "Because I could have sworn that when I went to sleep it was nighttime, and right now it looks like it's noon. This is a dream."

Meredith nodded vehemently.

Harry laughed a bit. "Well, then, this makes a bit more sense. It could still be a test or a prank, but I always notice when my dreams are being invaded. Alright, then, girl, hop up on the bed and we can talk. My dreams never really let me out of them until they're good and ready, so we might as well be comfortable."

With a sigh of relief, Meredith took her wrist back from her brother and clambered up onto the large and very comfortable mattress next to him. He stretched out his legs, yawning a bit.

"Seems a bit odd that I'm tired in a dream," he said conversationally, smiling at her. "So, girl, what's your name? You already know mine, it seems."

"Meredith," she said, not wanting to overload this strange, strange boy she saw as her brother with too much information too quickly. So she stopped at the first name.

"Meredith," he repeated, fixing the name in his memory. It wasn't common, not for wizards or muggles. "Meredith what?"

"Meredith Dorea," she said, smiling. "I'm nearly fifteen years old and I took a potion that allows me to see people in my dreams."

Harry laughed. "That's borderline Dark Magic, that is," he said, grinning still. "So you're a real person, then?" he asked. "I'm not crazy?"

"Nope," she answered, shaking her head. She wondered how you could be crazy if you were dead, but pushed that from her mind. "How old are you, Harry?"

"I'm almost sixteen," he answered, his eyes still searching hers as though she would give something away. Meredith was thankful, briefly, for the lessons in Occlumency that her godfather had given her, because they served to calm her down. "I will be in July, on the thirty first."

Meredith felt a bit of tugging at her insides, and realized her time was up. "Well, Harry," she said quietly, "it's been nice meeting you, but the first dream is really short. I'll be back for a longer visit next time," she told him, smiling. "See you then."

"Alright," he answered, bemused. He chuckled a bit to himself as the girl dissolved in front of him.

* * *

Meredith blinked blearily awake, aware as she became conscious for the first time since she had originally taken the potion. Her room came slowly back into focus, including her mother, who looked to have fallen asleep herself. That was alright; Lily had been worrying about her nonstop, and deserved her rest. Besides, Meredith needed a moment just to sit in awe of what had happened.

She had just met her brother. And not just her brother, her dead brother.

This was one thing she would never be able to regret, not even the part that required her to use Dark Magic or the part that would require her to use it again in two months to renew it. As long as she would be able to see her brother's ghost.

She threw back the covers and moved her legs over the side of the bed, in far too much of a hurry to get up to consider the fact that she had not really eaten nor drunk anything in the past two days, nor been physically out of bed without assistance. She fell straight back, banging her head against the wall, creating enough racket that her mother jolted awake.

"What happened?" the older woman asked, eyes wide and staring before becoming aware of her surroundings almost immediately after. Meredith realized that she shared that with Harry; the ability to realize where she was after waking. "Meredith, are you alright? Are you feeling better now?"

Meredith smiled. "I feel a thousand times better, Mum," she answered, laughing. "But I'm really hungry."

Lily smiled in relief. "Your father will be thrilled to hear it," she said. "We've all been worried sick."

"Sorry, Mum," Meredith said, her voice full of apology, feeling a bit of guilt for the first time for what she had done. She hoped that Morgan did not remember the symptoms from the potion she had described to her before.

"Ridiculous, love," Lily reassured her. "It's not your fault you got sick. Now, you stay there, I'm going to make you some soup. You can eat it in bed; I don't want you doing anything too strenuous for the next few days, alright?"

"Alright," Meredith agreed, the magic she had used up catching up with her as she slumped back against the pillows again, looking and feeling pale.

Lily smiled, happy that her daughter was no longer thrashing around and hallucinating, calling out the various names of her family members: James, Severus, Harry, Morgan, Harry, Lily, Sirius, Harry, just to name a few. She sighed as she strode up the stairs to the main part of the house, wondering why Harry, so long dead by now, was such a prominent part of her daughter's subconscious mind.

She threw open the cellar door, smiling broadly at the worried face of Severus, who had just strode into the kitchen. "She's fine," she said happily. "She's going to be fine."

* * *

Harry jolted awake from that odd, odd dream. He looked around, double checking-there was no sunlight, just moonlight; no strange girl, just him. That was one of the weirdest and most real dreams he had ever had, and he could not figure out what had happened to cause it.

There was no usual flavor-slightly tasting of mint and oranges-that hinted at occlumency, which would have indicated a test from Bella or his father, or a prank from Draco. He had eaten nothing unusual that day, taken no funny potions, done nothing really out of the ordinary. Just trained. So who was she, and what was she? For she seemed rather convinced that she was real, and that she was in a dream as well.

He stretched languidly, yawning, trying to convince himself that she was just a figment of his imagination, despite how impossible that was. Something just kept telling him that she-that Meredith Dorea-was real, that she existed.

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, tilting his head to one side. She looked an awful lot like him, he remembered. The hair, the eyes. They had the exact same eyes.

So was she part of his thoughts, then? A subconscious manifestation of himself, perhaps? Then what would that mean?

He shook himself.

_It doesn't matter if she is or if she isn't,_ he told himself firmly. _You've got to get prepared for that mission today, whatever she is, so get your mind on that, Harry Riddle. Nothing else matters, nothing. Go find Draco_.

So he dressed, tried combing his hair, fixed his eyes with his daily spell, and took off down the hall after quickly fixing his hood to cover his face and hair. He didn't think there were any of his father's lower ranking servants wandering the house today, but he wasn't one to take chances, and he did not like the idea that he could be caught out after so long, even should it only take a quick memory charm to fix it.

He threw open the door to his father's study, grinning when the boy he considered as his brother started and scowled at him. "Hello, Draco," he greeted, laughing when the other boy just narrowed his eyes.

"Go ahead and take a seat, son," the Dark Lord told him, red eyes glittering in amusement. Harry, still smirking, sat next to both of them. His mother was no where to be seen, something out of the ordinary when planning something this big, but not unexpected when it involved using her son and nephew as bait. "We've got a lot to do today."

The next few hours involved different plots, schemes, and ideas hashed out until every individual scenario had nothing unknown or confusing about it left over. There were no surprises, nothing unexpected.

Except for the niggling suspicion in the back of Harry's mind that something was going to go wrong.

Not horribly wrong, not detrimentally wrong, not mission-ending wrong. Just wrong. Just not the way they planned it out, just wrong in a way that would make his father very angry and would end painfully for someone-not him or his mother or Draco, but someone. Probably Lucius, he seemed to garner the Dark Lord's wrath far more often than most.

And so when he laid down to fall asleep that night, he pushed his worry aside, and what should take that worry's place, naturally, but the thought that maybe-perhaps-he would see the girl again?

His eyes drifted closed, but it only seemed like a moment before he felt a slight pressure on his bed and he jolted awake once more. He shot straight up, jerking around, noticing that this time it remained nighttime-he flicked his wand, creating a werelight in the corner, lighting up the room with an eerie blue cast, showing the girl's presence.

"Hello there, Harry," she greeted, smiling widely at him. "Did you miss me?"

He smiled back; he couldn't really help it. Something about this girl drew him to her. He felt like he should protect her from the world, felt like he should listen to her. Perhaps that was the dream talking. "You know, you really shouldn't be messing around with Dark Magic, Meredith Dorea," he informed her, stretching and yawning.

She shrugged. "I'm in Slytherin House at school," she said proudly. "I figured it was only a matter of time. Might as well do it for something important, right?"

"I suppose," Harry agreed, wondering internally how this was important. "So, Slytherin house, huh? That's a good one," he said approvingly, wondering why he felt the need to be so. This girl confused him. "If I went to Hogwarts, I'd be in Slytherin."

"Really?" Meredith asked, grinning. "I wish I could tell that to my sister, Morgan. She always thought that you would be in Gryffindor."

"You've discussed me before?" Harry asked, his voice smooth as he tried to wheedle information out of the mysterious girl.

Unsurprisingly, she fixed him with a narrowed, dark green eye. "I know what you're trying to do, Harry, and it won't work. I'm very good at such information gathering myself, and I can recognize such a 'non-invasive' question when I see one. The next thing I know, you'll be wanting to know who I have feelings for at school."

Harry wiggled his eyebrows at her, making her grin. "And who do you have feelings for at school, hmm? Anyone in particular, little girl?" She giggled at both his expression and his question, finding his glittering eyes amusing and caring.

Harry paused. Caring? When did he care about anyone other than his adopted family? The list was short: his father, Bella, Draco, and Narcissa. Lucius didn't even make the list, because of his occasional disdain for Harry's muggle pursuits. But now...this girl was worming her way there, and this was her second time in his dreams. He wasn't even sure that she was real.

"Not really. Well...there's this one boy," she murmured, her voice quiet. Her eyes were kind of far away. "It's not that I actually like him, mind you, it's just that he makes me really curious because he's kind of a conundrum. I'm almost sure he doesn't have any idea that I exist at all, mainly because he's hardly ever at school. He's homeschooled. His family wanted to teach him, see, because they have a lot of traditional spells that Hogwarts wouldn't cover. But Professor Dumbledore said that he would be required to attend school one week a month."

Harry stared at her, shocked beyond belief. He had needed incontrovertible proof that she was real, and he was almost positive that she had just handed it to him on a silver platter. "Tell me about him," he commanded softly, wrapping an arm comfortingly around her shoulders. He meant it in a completely platonic fashion, and she seemed to take it that way.

"Well, he's really quiet. It might be because he doesn't know a lot of us, but it might just be in his nature. I don't know. He's really close friends with my sib-that's a sort of mentor role in Slytherin house, where an older student takes care of you for your first couple of years-but I always make myself scarce when he's around. He has one of those intimidating personalities-he just seems to take up a whole room despite the fact that's he's not exactly a big person, you know? He's a leader, I guess. And extremely smart, too. He and my friend Hermione were in a debate for half an hour, and the only people who could follow what they were saying to each other were in Ravenclaw house, and it ended in a duel. So I guess he has a temper.

"I think the most amazing thing about him, though, is that despite the fact that he's brilliant and rich and strong is that he still looks out for the little people, I guess. My friends Astoria and Luna were in the library, and this complete horror of a Gryffindor-one of the Weasleys-came up and started mocking Luna because she's a bit odd. Draco stood up for her; he told him off for being a bully."

Harry wanted to bury his face in his hand, but he couldn't. Meredith would notice, and would want to know why, and he couldn't tell her that he had really been hoping that she was an illusion or a hallucination or _something_ that wasn't real. Now, however, he knew that she was because she had just identified Draco.

"He sounds like a good man," Harry said, brushing her hair back. "Why don't you like him?"

She grimaced. "Because I don't _know_ him. I always wanted to fall in love with someone I was friends with first, you see. And my male friends are either Neville Longbottom-and please, that would be fatalistic for everyone involved. He gets on my nerves-or Blaise Zabini, and he's like my brother. Just, eww. Not happening."

"So make him a friend. Talk to him," Harry said, wondering why he would be encouraging this girl to try to increase her chances of romance with the person he considered to be _his_ brother. He knew that Draco would never endanger someone that way, but Meredith seemed like a good match for the Malfoy heir. He pursed his lips. If anything ever came of it, he would have to talk to Draco about how to treat this girl. She would not be a toy if he had anything to say about it.

She scowled. "I don't want to talk about my romances with _you_ of all people," she stated. "Tell me about yourself, Harry. I want to know _everything."_

"Everything?" he asked, half-smiling as his mind frantically tried to come up with something to tell her. "That's a lot to ask of a person."

"I don't care, just tell me something. I have to know. How about I ask you questions, and you answer them?" she asked, her face wearing a look far to similar to begging to let him decline her request.

"Fine."

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, smiling at his compliance. "We're starting easy."

He answered with the color black, picked at random, and she allowed it despite the typical argument it might have raised regarding its applicability as an actual color. The questions came quickly and were answered with varying speed; none were very personal, and he had a feeling that she wanted just to spend time with him.

The question game lasted for two more nights, taking up their time every dream, every time they went to sleep. Both of them tried to think of new questions for the other, tried to think of ways to make the other reveal something that was out of bounds-anything about their pasts other than her time at school or her friends, anything about her family, anything about his life. He didn't understand the avoidance, but he accepted it because despite the fact that she was in Slytherin, there was a large possibility that her views rested on the other side of the war.

It took him until the third night of dream questioning to figure out why she was avoiding the topics, and he discovered that it had nothing to do with the war.

He realized that she was terrified that, should she say the wrong thing, he would send her away and never want to see her again. And he realized in the same moment that there was nothing she could say that would make him feel that way, because she had found a place in his heart that he had been completely unaware was unfilled.

"What do you want more than anything else in the world?" she asked, her eyes blinking tiredly. "Last question tonight. Promise."

"I've always...I've always wanted a sister," he admitted. "I have something akin to a brother, but I've always wanted a sister."

A wide smile spread across Meredith Dorea's face, revealing two rows of perfect, even teeth. She wrapped her arms around him. "I've always wanted a brother more than anything else," she whispered into his ear. "Perhaps we've both gotten what we wished for?"

And he thought as she drifted off on his shoulder before disappearing to sleep dreamlessly in her own body, perhaps they had.

.

.

.

**AN: Sorry, I meant to post this yesterday, but then life caught up with me….**

**Anyway, dears, let me know what you think! I love hearing from you all, and it's not terribly hard to drop a review :)**

**Thanks to anthony37 and Eragon09! You guys are awesome :D**

**Please let me know what you think of the story so far!**

**Love and best wishes,**

**Lady Fate**


	6. V Red Comes In All Shades

_Find Me In The Dark_

_Chapter Five: Red Comes in All Shades_

"It's time to get up, Meredith," Lily's voice called down from above, magically enhanced by a Sonorus charm specifically cast through to the cellar. "I told you it would be an early morning-get up!"

With a groan, the dark haired girl sat up and put a hand to her head. She smiled, remembering the conversation she had had with Harry the night before-it had been about two weeks since the first dream they had shared, and since then she truly had felt that he was the brother she had never had. She wondered what kind of magic that was, though; he was as old as he was supposed to be. When one died as a child, did one age as a spirit in the afterlife, then? She supposed that would make sense; who would want to spend eternity as a baby?

She slowly crawled out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt proclaiming the word "TARDIS" over an old blue muggle police box, a reference to a muggle television show her mother was always obsessed with. Of course, she loved it too, which was the reason she had created the sweatshirt. With that, she slowly made her way up the stairs-and halfway up recalled why she had been ordered to report so early in the morning, and, filled with dread, plopped down on the stair and groaned.

They were going to the Weasleys' today, and she wouldn't even have Hermione or Luna there to keep her sane. Morgan would be running around with Ginny, Fred would be off with George working on joke shop stuff, Percy would be insufferable, Bill and Charlie would be absent. That would leave her with Ron to put up with.

She would be miserable.

"Meredith, now!"

"Ugh." She hefted herself off of the stair and dragged her way up to the bathroom, finishing her morning ritual of crabbiness and antisocial getting ready prep for the day.

* * *

Harry took a deep breath as he pulled on the official robes belonging to the Death Eaters; it was the first time he had ever worn the legitimate robes, and it was almost as nerve-wracking as his first mission had been. His robes were always slightly modified, so that he could argue that he had not been with the Death Eaters should he be captured-but today was the day when he and Draco would be officially presented as the commanders for the next assignment, and therefore the robes were necessary in a ceremonial sort of practice. He had persuaded his father to allow their own robes the next day, thank Merlin; he wasn't sure if he could actually wear these miserable things. His were not only much lighter, but he had cast so many wards into the fabric that most spells would just bounce off without any repercussion to himself.

Harry ducked into the small antichamber to his room, the one that connected with Draco's when he stayed at with the Riddle family. The blonde was waiting for him, already looking fairly comfortable in his robes, though Harry could tell that he was just as on edge, though perhaps better at hiding it. Harry adjusted his facial expression a bit, enough to match Draco's, so that his discomfort was hidden.

"Shall we?" the blonde asked, a slight smirk spreading across his face. "I believe that the meeting will be starting soon."

"Give me a moment, I need to ask you about something," Harry said, his voice quiet. He gathered his courage as he saw Draco's look of curiosity. There was no going back, unless he could come up with another suitable question. "Do you know of a girl in Slytherin named Meredith, with black hair and green eyes? She's tiny, maybe about as tall as my shoulder, and thin." He watched his best friend carefully…but he did not understand the reaction.

The sixteen year old-already pale-lost every bit of color that filled his skin. His grey eyes became wider than usual, and they scuttled around to not meet Harry's. "Yes...I know Meredith," Draco answered. "She's a good friend of Blaise Zabini's. His sib, I believe. It's this thing in Slytherin-"

"Yes, yes, I know what a sib is," Harry said impatiently, looking at Draco through narrowed eyes. "But tell me about Meredith."

"You tell me about her. How did you hear her name? I've never mentioned her, I know that," Draco said, looking for a way out. But his grey eyes were narrowed at his adopted brother's, and they really wanted to know this information despite the fact that it was a distraction anyway. Harry appreciated that; at least it was a genuine distraction.

"I had a dream about her, and something seemed familiar. I didn't see any harm in asking," Harry answered, his non-lie giving virtually nothing away to Draco, who relaxed a bit. Dreams and connections made within were commonplace within the wizarding world.

"She's...Harry, I don't know how else to tell you this. Her name is Meredith Dorea Potter."

Harry felt like he had been struck over the head. "Potter?"

Draco nodded slowly. "Potter. She's a Potter; a Halfblood, a daughter of two of the most active members of the Order of the Phoenix. She may be a Slytherin, but we cannot trust her either."

Harry looked at him, feeling as though he had swallowed acid. "She's my sister," he said quietly.

"No. No, she's not," Draco said, worry in his eyes, "Not in any way that matters, not like I'm your brother or Bella's your mother or my lord is your father. We're your family-she is nothing."

He doesn't understand, Harry thought to himself. He doesn't know that I know her, that I...I love her like I do him, as a sibling, as my sister. She is my sister. Meredith truly is my sister. "Does she know that she used to have a brother?" he asked, his voice filled with a bit of sadness that he would only allow himself to show around Draco.

The other hesitated to reveal it, but nodded. "She does. She loves him like he's really there; she's convinced he would have been in Slytherin with her, despite their parentage. You, rather. She misses you. I think she's been reported once for tormenting the ghosts into revealing a way to bring back the dead. There is no such way, but she wants a brother more than anything and Zabini only fills that hole so much-she wants you."

Harry shook his head. What would it be to love someone you had never known so much? he wondered. That was so strange to him; she was so strange. Something in the tone of Draco's voice struck him then, and he looked up at his brother. "You are friends with her," he guessed, wondering if it was more. Meredith had said she felt something that could be more...he wondered if that was in Draco too.

"Not friends, per say," Draco hedged. "More like...I watch over her, make sure she's okay, because she's your sister and I see you in her, you know. The two of you are a lot alike, though she's a lot sweeter. More innocent, I suppose."

Harry nodded. "Speaking of, we have a meeting to attend," he added, waving his wand and conjuring his typical black mask over his face. Draco mirrored his actions, questions in his eyes, though he followed his brother out of the door as they headed toward a meeting that might just perhaps decide their fates.

* * *

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Harry asked her quietly, his voice soft, his green eyes looking down into her own affectionately, gently. He wondered why he hadn't noticed before, but they were exactly the same as his own-exactly. Precisely the same shape, shade, size. It was almost as though she had stolen his eyes, but he retained his own, so he obviously knew that was not the case. It was eerie, going from knowing nothing about this girl but what she had told him to assuming things because she shared the same eyes he did.

"Well, my friends wanted me to meet them in Diagon Alley," Meredith answered, grinning. "Ginny and Luna, I mean. Astoria's family won't let her come anywhere near me outside school, and Blaise is on holiday in Italy."

"Do me a favor, and stay out of Diagon Alley tomorrow," Harry said without thinking, just blurting it out. He supposed that it had something to do with the dream state; it lowered his defenses. He looked at her again; the pale skin, the green eyes, the messy black hair. "Please, Meredith. Stay away tomorrow. Get a headache, get the flu. Just stay home. Promise."

"O-okay," she stuttered, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I promise. Can you at least tell me why, Harry?"

"No. You'll know, soon enough," he answered, smiling sadly at her. "Come now, tell me about what you did today."

Meredith scowled. "Mother sent me to the Weasleys' again," she growled. "She knows I hate it there-Morgan runs off with Ginny, the Twins were working on their business and wouldn't let me help. Percy-well, no one wants to bother with him anyway. So I was stuck with Ronald, since Bill and Charlie were off doing who knows what. And that was miserable."

Her older brother scowled, the harsh new expression on his face causing Meredith to flinch. He failed to notice, for his dark green eyes burned into hers. "What did he do?" Harry asked, his voice low and harsh. She failed to answer, staring widely back at him with her mouth slightly agape.

"Nothing," she murmured, her voice a whisper, her eyes darting away, her head ducking down and to one side. "Nothing, Harry, that you can do anything about."

Cold fingers touched her chin and turned her face so that the matching dark green gazes met, and he held her chin there like a scolding father might. "Meredith. What. Did. He. Do? Tell me, and I promise to help you," he said, his voice soft and quiet and threatening, a tone she had never before heard him use. It sent a shiver through her spine, one that both warned her away from him and reassured her-because it had emerged from his throat in protection of her.

"Ronald and I have never gotten along very well," Meredith admitted quietly. "Especially because he always felt that he was better than me, that he was the better wizard. When Uncle Severus came to test our magical aptitude and I scored so much higher on the scales than did anyone in the Weasley family, I think that resentment just grew. It grew a lot, actually. It was the first time anyone had told Ron that he was not better than someone else; he was used to being the youngest boy. He was his mother's little prince.

"It got worse three years ago, when I came to Hogwarts and was Sorted into Slytherin. It's like Ron believes every word and prejudice ever spoken to him; he hates us Slytherins because he knows he's supposed to, so he hates me because he thinks it will make him popular. Worse, it has, with the Gryffindor and even some of the Hufflepuff boys. So he bullies me at home and at school. Blaise and Hermione do their best to stop it, but now he waits till I'm alone to do his worst.

"Today he...he jinxed me from behind and froze me, so that I couldn't move or get to my wand or anything. Then he locked me in a closet. And conjured up a bunch of moths. Moths! I'll never be able to look at the things the same ever again." She shuddered. "It was _terrifying._ I don't think he realized how much so. They've always freaked me out, but this many...now I think they're one of my worst fears."

"I thought you couldn't do magic outside of Hogwarts," Harry said, covering up his rage with curiosity. He was so furious-and it was this girl, his sister, who brought it out in him, who for the first time made him feel the sort of fury that his father felt daily. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You can if you're in the presence or home of an adult wizard; then they just assume that the adult is the one using the spell. Though I don't know why anyone would want a bunch of moths."

Harry laughed a bit. "So this Ronald...what does he look like?"

"Oh, tall, red hair, freckles. You know, the Weasley bit. Why?"

"Just wondered," Harry said innocently. Meredith looked up at him quizzically, then shrugged it off. She didn't really care what he was up to, she supposed. Perhaps he would go to torment Ronald's dreams instead. She would be okay with that.

* * *

Harry jolted awake, staring around his now unoccupied room in surprise. He hadn't expected to be awakened from his dream so early-normally he had more time to converse with his little sister-but there were so many preparations to be made for today that he had little choice. He stood and stretched before walking to the bathroom, beginning his very strict routine that preceded such an important mission.

He showered with a special soap and shampoo that removed all scent and magical signature from his body. He dried his hair with a flick of his wand-the black mess never behaved, so he never tried to make it. It was rather pointless. He dressed, pulling on a pair of black trousers made of a clinging material that made it easier for him to fight in the muggle style and a shirt made of the exact same fabric and color. Over that, he pulled on his modified black Death Eater's robes, the ones that almost but not exactly matched the ones his father had his men and women wear into battle and on duty.

Finally, he waved his wand and the ominous black mask that soaked in light as though into a void appeared upon his face. Only the green of his eyes were visible through the slits, and most of his messy hair was held back by the top of the mask, which curled over the top of his head like a helmet. It was ideal for both concealing his identity and battle.

Harry Marvolo Riddle was prepared to enter the battlefield today, for the first time leading his father's people.

He strode out of his room, his black robes and cloak billowing around his tall, thin frame, and met with his brother in the antechamber. Draco's robes were identical to his own, only a white mask and a grey cloak covered all of his identifiable features. He had also taken the added precaution of charming the hood to stay over his hair, which was extremely distinguishable to people who might know of him and the Malfoy family traits.

They walked together to the meeting room, finding one Bellatrix Riddle standing with her back to them both. She stood, arms crossed, staring out the window. She wore only a black dress; no cloak, no shoes, no mask. She was clearly not going with them, something Harry was sorry to see, for he always felt most comfortable fighting with his parents by his side.

Bellatrix walked over and crushed her son into a hug, waving a hand and vanishing his mask for only a moment. She kissed his forehead. "I love you," she whispered. Harry smiled.

"I love you too, Mum."

Bella nodded and repeated the process with Draco. She normally said no goodbyes, but there was a sense of dread surrounding this assignment. At least, that's how she felt as she watched them walk out of the door.

The dark robed shape known as the Demon to those following him gave a sharp nod to his second in command. They were preparing to move; their people had filled the shadows in Diagon Alley, looking simply like normal shoppers underneath their glamours.

The Demon looked at the Death Eaters and quietly began speaking. "I want no fatal injuries. That might result in danger for whomever they end up capturing, be it myself or the Angel. That's an order. Am I understood?"

There were dark mutterings, but they agreed.

"Very good. Let us begin," the Demon said, making his last few words louder, before stepping out of the shadows and beginning his attack by shouting the word "_MORSMORDE"_ into the sky. The green, snake laden skull shot from his wand and into the sky, accompanied by shrieks and screams throughout the alley.

It achieved the desired result: those innocent of being in the Order of the Phoenix ran for the hills and apparition spots, taking their children with them, while those who allied themselves with Dumbledore stayed and drew their wands, hatred and battle intent on their faces.

"Spread out," the Demon said, his voice guttural and his black mask obscuring his face. "Get them on their own; attack. Let the Angel and I take the bulk of them. Go!"

The fighting was rough; for once, the Order seemed more intent upon killing than did the Death Eaters, and the two in charge of the mission could tell that it was confusing them into fighting even more desperately. The Demon was in the middle of fighting with a tall, steady, dark skinned man with a sparkling silver earring. Suddenly, the Demon caught a glimpse of bright red hair in the chaos-the same shade of hair that was legendarily the trait of the Weasley family.

"Ronald Weasley," he growled under his breath, to the confusion of his partner. In almost no time at all, he finished his duel with the man to go to another. With no explanation or rationalization or even the slightest bit of thinking through the fact that Ronald was underage and unlikely to be there in the least, he rushed over.

"Bill, watch out! The one that took down Kingsley is headed right for you!" a voice shouted, shooting a red spell straight at the Demon. He didn't know who Kingsley was, he didn't know who Bill was; the Demon just blocked the jet of light and kept running toward the redhead he believed was named Ronald Weasley.

Dark green eyes narrowed toward the Order member. He looked much older than what he had expected. Perhaps...perhaps that was something-that was not Ronald Weasley. He turned on the spot, Apparated straight back to his position guarding the Angel and creating the appearance of a second in command.

"I have a plan," he murmured. "On how to get you captured."

The Angel nodded, his face and hair still perfectly hidden despite the chaos of the skirmish. "Let's hear it."

"Get in the middle of those Weasley's over there-attack the tall one standing next to the old one. "I believe the old one to be his father...he'll retaliate."

The Angel turned to look Demon in the eye, fighting the instinct to salute-he was creating the illusion that he was in charge, that he was the leader. The green eyed Guard saluted him instead, just slightly, and Angel nodded before sprinting off to follow his true master's orders.

With a well placed _"crucio"_, the one the Order members called Bill was writing on the ground in agony, and only stopped when the one they had properly identified as his father attacked the white-masked Death Eater.

Demon watched it all as he prepared to call out the order for a retreat in case Angel failed to do so. His eyes widened as the aging Weasley stunned his best friend and began furiously casting spells that would normally be used only in the heat of battle-spells brought on by rage and fear and the ache of a loss that might have been. Bill stood, placed a shaking hand on his father's shoulder-the torturing curse must have been much stronger than any Angel had ever cast before-and said something quietly. No one else in the Order was paying the small group much attention; they had their own Death Eaters to deal with. The two quickly cast a spell that roped up the white masked villain.

Finally, the one called Bill yelled, "We've captured your leader! If you surrender, we'll be fair to you-if you choose to keep fighting, you'll face the consequences."

The Demon smiled, the eerie expression tight with worry beneath his mask, as his best friend called out to his troops one final order-an order that was someone else's command, but the final order he would give that day. "Retreat back to base!" he yelled. "Leave me!"

Demon signaled for them to follow him in their planned retreat.

Today was a phenomenal success, he thought. At the same time, the one called Angel passed out from blood loss. A rivulet of red ran over the stark white of his mask.

.

.

.

**AN:**

**Hello, darlings!**

**Just so you know, the reason Harry probably seems quite open to Meredith is because he's in a dream state; he reverts back to his innermost personality. In this case, we have a strong argument for nature over nurture; the same way he turned out to be so amazing after suffering at the hands of the Dursleys. Also, she's young enough and small enough he doesn't consider her a threat-a mistake he probably shouldn't make. ;) (Bit of foreshadowing, that.)**

**Thank you to my wonderful reviewers, but now comes a time...I'm reaching the end of my previously written chapters. This means that the more reviews, the more motivation I have to write...so please drop me an owl!**

**As always,**

**Love and best wishes,**

**LadyFate**


End file.
